


Crossroads

by steelcrash



Category: My Bloody Valentine (2009), Supernatural
Genre: Gen, References to Suicide, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelcrash/pseuds/steelcrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam Winchester find out the ramifications of their mother's deal with the demon Azazel are more far-reaching than they could have imagined. Crossover with 2009 "My Bloody Valentine."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Purge

Crossroads  
Prologue  
Lawrence, Kan., Jan. 24, 1979  
The middle of the night, and the hospital was quiet. That didn’t mean the maternity ward wasn’t busy. No one noticed the man slip into the nursery, as he’d managed to create a distraction for the nurse who was supposed to be watching over the newborns. He didn’t harm her, what was coming would be damage enough. He smiled at that thought, making his way to two of the infants sleeping in beds next to one another in the nursery, which was empty, save for himself, and the two babies. 

The newborns, infant twin boys, belonging to one Mary Winchester. Her children were only a few hours old, and he had every intention of honoring his deal with the former hunter. Her deal would be up in four years, and Azazel was a patient creature. Unfortunately for Mary, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be creative. He had plans for all her children, even the one not born yet, the one he was truly waiting on, but the advent of twins was something he hadn’t counted on. A newly-made deal called for a child, and Mary Winchester’s firstborn would do nicely. Azazel picked up the baby, who didn’t wake. As quickly as he’d appeared, the demon disappeared.   
88888  
Chapter 1—Purge

Tom Hanniger wakes with a start. Sitting up, he slows his breathing, trying not to hyperventilate. Looking around, he can recognize he’s in a hospital room, but where, that’s the kicker. He doesn’t know the day or date, and it really doesn’t matter. What does is the fact he’s alive, when he shouldn’t be. Looking down at the bandages on each arm, wrapped in gauze and tape from wrist to elbow on the left and just the wrist on the right, he knows he tried what he hadn’t in a long time. 

Throwing the blanket off and setting his call light aside, standing on unsteady legs, he makes it into the bathroom, turning on the water, splashing his face. Maybe the past few days, what he remembers, has all been a nightmare. Looking at his reflection, he thinks maybe he’s right, and sighs with relief, towling off his face. But then, for an instant, his eyes go black, and he starts screaming.   
88888

Day two in the hospital, and he knows he’s somewhere in Kansas, after waking up from the Haldol/Ativan cocktail the nurses gave him after he broke the mirror in his room. He’s having a one on one session with his attending physician, always a fun time. He lies to the doctor. That’s easy, almost second nature. Yes, he’s backsliding due to the death of his father, the stress of returning home for the first time in almost a decade, and dealing with the mess of his late father’s estate. Except the doctor isn’t completely buying it. 

“Mr. Hanniger, your cooperation is appreciated, but. . .”

“Call me Tom,” he said, cutting off the doctor. 

“All right, Tom, let’s start over. You just inherited a substantial amount of money, and closed a chapter of your life. Most people would be relieved to have that kind of closure, but you still obviously have issues to work through,” Dr. Muniz said. 

“Yeah, I know I have daddy issues I’m probably never going to resolve,” Tom answered. “My father was a decent man until my mother died a few days before my 10th birthday. How’s that not gonna leave a mark on a kid? That birthday was the last time he ever showed me real affection. After that, he started drinking, telling me it was my fault my mother was gone. He told me that every day until I left.”

“How did your mother die?”

“She died in a fire,” Tom said. “That’s all I know.”

“An accident, and yet your father blamed you. Tom, it wasn’t your fault,” Dr. Muniz said. 

“He convinced himself it was my fault, along with everything else,” Tom said. 

“Would you like to elaborate?” the doctor asked. 

“Not really,” Tom said. 

“You know we can only hold you another 24 hours, given your past history, I’d recommend staying on a few more days, or going to stay with a friend or family,” Dr. Muniz said. 

“Not an option,” Tom said. “There isn’t anyone I can to go or want to stay with.”

“You’re certain?”

“I’m not going back home, because that place is filled with bad memories,” Tom said. “I’ve got a few job prospects in Arizona if that helps. Are we done now? I’d like to get some rest.”

The doctor dismisses him, and Tom can’t get to his room fast enough. The police were kind enough to bring him his duffel, so he has clean clothes, and he also has the keys to his Bronco. The hospital is small, and the staff is trusting he won’t sneak out, especially in his condition. He’s going to leave while he’s still in control, and he has a chance. 

Fifteen minutes later, he’s pulling out of the parking lot, and he doesn’t look back. He heads north, on Highway 83. It’s the opposite of where he said he was going, and he has cash, enough to last a while before he has to access one of his accounts. The past year, before going home, he’d worked for a drilling company, going from place to place helping drill for oil. They paid in cash, didn’t ask questions, and he’d managed to save most of his money. It was probably his longest stretch out of a mental institution. 

Then everything went to hell with the call from his father’s lawyer, saying the bastard had finally died, and he needed to come home and settle his affairs. Everyone always expected him to inherit the mine, but he’d only inherited a 25 percent share, and the house his father owned. He’d arranged to sell the house, and his stake in the mine to the workers who were still holding on, and it still wasn’t enough. 

Then there was Axel, and Sarah, and the whole thing in the mine. He remembered most of it, including the part where Axel’s eyes turned black, and that was when Tom knew Axel was the one who killed everyone this time, or the thing inside Axel, the thing that was now inside him. No one would believe him this time if he tried telling them what was going on, but how could he explain it when he didn’t understand? He’d spent so much time trying to convince himself the things he saw weren’t real, it was just the PTSD from the mine accident 10 years prior, the accident his father blamed him for, and what the doctors had diagnosed as schizophrenia. 

His father, the late, not to be lamented Wayne Hanniger, had let his own son be the scapegoat for his negligence. It was just one more blow, another, more damning form of abuse, except one where he didn’t have to lay a hand on his son, and the rest was history. Tom’s plans of college, a career, a family, all gone. He hoped his father was happy, and roasting in hell.   
88888

Three days later, he’s in Minot, North Dakota, stopping to find a diner for something to eat. Except he never makes it inside. Two burly men block the door. 

“I don’t want trouble,” Tom said. 

“Winchester, you’ve got a lot to answer for,” one says. 

“I think you’ve got me mistaken for someone else,” Tom answers. 

“Where’s Sammy? Hiding him someplace safe?” the other asks. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tom replies. 

“Like hell.”

And then Tom feels himself being pushed back inside his own head, watches as something else moves his body, breaking the neck of the first man as if he’s nothing. He screams, knowing nothing is coming out of his mouth as he grabs the second man, smashing his head against the wall until he’s dead. Dropping the man’s limp form, he turns around, gets back in the Bronco, helpless, a prisoner in his own body.


	2. Implications

Chapter 2—Implications  
Disclaimer: I don’t own “Supernatural,” or any of the characters. They belong to Warner Bros. and The CW.

 

Bobby Singer’s day was off to a less than desirable start. The call from Rufus Turner waking him up before noon wasn’t good news. Hopefully just a damn shifter, but considering, it wasn’t going to be that simple a solution, so Bobby dialed up Sam Winchester, hoping for the best.   
“Sam. . .yeah, I’m fine. . .I’ve got a question, and you better answer truthfully. . .where are you, and is Dean with you. . .Colorado, what’s there. . .and he is? Yeah, I wanna talk to him. . .Dean, boy, you better. . .no, I don’t care how many there were, or about. . .no, damn it Dean, wanna tell me what you were doing in North Dakota yesterday? No, I’m not getting senile, idjit. . .allegedly, you killed two hunters up in Minot yesterday afternoon, and the police are looking for you, or someone wearing your face, so I’d be careful. . .No, I’m not kidding. . .put Sam back on. . .Sam, Rufus e-mailed me the surveillance footage from the parking lot camera. . .yeah. . .lay low, or better yet, get yourselves up here, now. Yeah, see you in a couple of days.”  
Bobby ends the call, throwing the phone down on his desk, scrubbing at his face. He isn’t really surprised by this turn of circumstances. It’s happened before, and bound to happen again, except it’s a complication they don’t need right now. The Apocalypse is looming, and his boys already have hunters on their asses for jumpstarting Armageddon. Standing, he makes up his mind. He’ll go up to Minot and check things out, counting on Sam to make Dean head his way. The boys can camp out his house until he gets back.   
88888  
Three days later, outside Billings, Mont.  
The thing inside Tom makes him aware of his surroundings, lets him feel what’s happening to his body, torturing him as it fights to hold on. Again, he can’t talk, but he can feel the burn as the water hits his body, and he can’t scream as the stranger in front of him starts talking in what sounds like Latin. His body is tied to a chair, and the thing inside him mocks the man as he speaks, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, and Tom feels the presence inside him losing its grip until finally, it throws his head back and a black cloud comes out of his mouth.   
Then he watches as another man appears out of nowhere, burning the black smoke into nothing.   
“Thanks for nothing, Crowley,” the man in the baseball cap says, closing the book in his hands. Tom’s trying to catch his breath, listening to the exchange.   
“Sorry I was late, but I was doing a little research, Robert,” Crowley spat. “It’s not my fault squirrel went and got himself possessed again.”  
“That’s not Dean,” Bobby said.   
“What?” Crowley said, suddenly scrutinizing Tom more closely than he’d like. He walked over, grabbing him by the chin, looking him over. “It looks like your pet Winchester.”  
“My name is Tom,” he managed. “Tom Hanniger. Not Winchester.”  
Crowley let him go, suddenly looking thoughtful. “Hanniger. . .why does that sound familiar?” he said. “You might want to get this fellow to a doctor. I’ll be in touch.”  
With that, Crowly left Bobby alone with the man wearing Dean’s face. Bobby ran to his side, untying him, noticing the kid was starting to bleed.   
“I’m Bobby,” he said. “I’m gonna get you some help. Think you can answer some questions for me?”  
88888  
Sioux Falls, S.D.  
Three days at Bobby’s and Dean Winchester isn’t amused. He’s given his baby an oil change and tune-up, got caught watching soap operas by Sam (his bitchy little brother was not going to let him live down his love of “Passions”), and generally tried to drive Sammy up the wall, but it’s not working. And the sheriff, Jody Mills, had stopped by twice to bring them dinner. Better than takeout or Sammy’s salads, but Dean was starting to wonder what was up when Bobby called to talk to Sam, and not him. He tried listening to Sam’s side of the conversation, but the younger Winchester locked himself in the bathroom so Dean couldn’t hear. Dean settled himself back on the couch, waiting for Sam to reappear.   
Five minutes later, he walked back into the living room.   
“Bobby wants us to meet him in Billings,” Sam said. “He wants us to leave now.”  
“What’s up?” Dean asked, turning off the TV and throwing down the remote.   
“He’ll fill us in when we get there, but he said it’s important,” Sam said.   
“This isn’t like Bobby to be so cryptic,” Dean said.   
“No kidding,” Sam said.   
88888  
The next evening, they’re standing in the ICU waiting room of St. Vincent Hospital, waiting on Bobby to show. Dean’s impatient, and Sam ignores his brother’s complaining, and grabs Dean by the arm when Bobby shows up at the door with a doctor. They talk a few minutes before Bobby walks inside.   
“”Bout time you two got here,” he says, hugging the two as they stand.   
“What’re we doing here?” Dean asked.   
“That’s what we need to talk about,” Bobby said. “Follow me.”  
They walk down the hall, stopping outside a room.  
“Dean, don’t freak out,” Bobby said. “I mean it. Any hysterics and you’re leaving the building.”  
Dean shot Sam a look, and he shrugged.   
“Think you can control yourself?” Bobby said, opening the door. The two followed him inside, Bobby situating himself on one side of the hospital bed, watching the boys’ reactions to the patient. Sam covered his mouth in surprise, and Dean started to cuss, but stopped himself, seeing the man in the bed who looked like he did.  
“Bobby, what is going on here?” Sam asked.   
“Yeah, what the hell, Bobby?” Dean said, pacing. “That better not be a shifter.”  
“He’s human,” Bobby said. “Crowley helped me yank a demon out of him a couple of days ago.”  
“Is this the guy who killed those hunters in North Dakota?” Sam asked.   
“Yeah,” Bobby said.   
“Then why isn’t this place crawling with cops?” Dean said.   
“The surveillance footage from Minot might have had an accident,” Bobby said.   
“What?”  
“Rufus made sure it disappeared,” Bobby said.   
“Why are you here, and why call us?” Dean said.   
“Uh, besides the obvious?” Bobby said. “He’s got your face Dean, he was demon-possessed, and he shares your birthday.”  
“Coincidence?” Sam offered hopefully.  
“Since when is anything in our lives coincidence?” Bobby said, sitting down.   
“What’s wrong with him?” Dean asked.  
“Well, besides the demon riding him, a suicide attempt and gunshot wound,” Bobby said. “The demon was holding him together. Not to mention a history of mental illness. His name is Tom Hanniger. The doctor managed to get his old medical records, and this kid’s been through hell the past 10 years.”  
“And how do you know all this?” Dean asked.   
“Lied. How else?” Bobby said. “Said I was his uncle when I brought him in. Found him and he’d just botched a suicide attempt. They seem to have bought the story, thank God.”  
“What do we do now?” Sam asked.   
“Wait until he’s well enough to travel and get him the hell out of here,” Bobby said. “Sam, you and I are gonna go to his hometown and check a few things out and Dean, you’re taking him to my place.”  
“Do you think that’s such a good idea?” Dean said. “Sticking him with a guy who has his face?”   
“You got any better ideas, sunshine?” Bobby snapped.   
Dean frowned, and Sam grabbed him by the arm, pulling him into the hall.   
“Dean, Bobby’s just a little freaked out by all this, and I know you are too, but don’t you think it’s a little strange that guy looks just like you and has the same birthday?” Sam said. “Don’t you want answers?”  
“Sammy, sometimes it might be better to leave things alone,” Dean said. “That’s what I think.”  
Dean pulled away, walking down the hall. Sam watched him go, shaking his head in exasperation.


End file.
